Scorching Sun

  The blazing sun radiated endless crimson light, scorching the ground until it was unbearably hot. The clouds seemed to have been burned away, leaving the sky a vast, cloudless expanse.

  It was just past noon, the sun at its fiercest, and no one in the small town wanted to step outside. Even the laborers, who relied on hard work to make a living, lay in the teahouses seeking relief from the heat.

  Yet, in the eastern part of Qingshi Town, the rhythmic clang of hammering echoed through the air.

  Following the sound, one could see an old and worn building standing in stark contrast to the surrounding grand and luxurious structures. Spanning a hundred meters, it stood alone, its wide entrance tightly shut with no guards in sight.

  Four ancient characters were carved above the gate: "Longxing Martial Hall."

  Inside the courtyard, a young man stood bare-chested, his breath heavy and labored. In his hands, he gripped a massive black iron hammer, methodically striking the anvil with slow, deliberate movements.

  Clang! Clang!

  The sound of steel striking steel resounded continuously. The hammer, weighing over a hundred pounds, moved steadily in his grasp. His arm muscles tensed with each swing, revealing an explosive power hidden within.

  "Almost done."

  The young man wiped the sweat from his forehead, his eyes fixed on the forming sword embryo. He muttered absentmindedly.

  His name was Yang Tian, and he was about to turn sixteen. Despite his fair and delicate features, his skin had a faint yellowish tint. Yet, his expression was calm and composed—far beyond his years.

  "Xiao Tian, why are you still forging? We don't lack money now, hurry and focus on your cultivation!"

  An elderly man suddenly walked in from the entrance. He wore a simple gray tunic, but his exposed muscles were strong and well-built. Seeing his adopted son still working the forge as always, he quickly approached, his voice filled with concern.

  This old man was Lin Yuan, Yang Tian's adoptive father and the owner of Longxing Martial Hall.

  Eight years ago, Lin Yuan had found a bloodied child in his courtyard and decided to take him in. Time had flown by, and now, eight years had passed.

  "Godfather, I can handle this. You should rest. This is also a form of cultivation for me."

  Yang Tian quickly pushed Lin Yuan’s arm away, scratched his head, and grinned. Then, without another word, he turned back to the anvil, raising his hammer again, his focus unwavering.

  As the hammer struck, sparks flew, and the ringing of metal filled the courtyard.

  At the same time, within Yang Tian’s Qi Sea, dozens of crimson blood beads suddenly trembled. The surging vitality coursed through his veins, infusing his grip with an even greater force!

  This was the result of his relentless training. In this world, there existed a unique energy known as Heaven and Earth Essence Qi. The human race had created cultivation techniques to absorb this energy, using it to refine their blood and strengthen their bodies—this process was called "Blood Refining."

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  Blood Refining was divided into nine stages.

  Lin Yuan watched Yang Tian intently, a faint smile appearing on his weathered face.

  Since the day he took in the boy, Lin Yuan had treated him as his own son. Life had been hard, but seeing Yang Tian grow into a diligent and responsible young man filled his heart with warmth. Despite their struggles, Yang Tian would often forge weapons to sell, helping support their household.

  Zzzz!

  Yang Tian plunged the glowing sword embryo into a barrel of water. Steam rose in thick clouds, and the water bubbled violently. A moment later, he wiped his brow and examined the rough sword embryo, his expression filled with dissatisfaction.

  "I wonder when I'll be able to forge a true Blood Weapon... The family’s ancient records are too incomplete."

  Shaking his head helplessly, Yang Tian turned to Lin Yuan.

  "Godfather, the Martial Hall Tournament is in three months, right?"

  The Martial Hall Tournament was held every three years, and the top ten contestants received generous rewards.

  "Haha, that's right. I wonder if I can win a place this time."

  Lin Yuan chuckled, but his eyes carried a hint of worry.

  "Godfather, you're already at the seventh stage of Blood Refining, so you should have a good chance, right?"

  Seeing Lin Yuan’s hesitation, Yang Tian quickly reassured him.

  "Don’t worry! And if things get tough, I’ll be there to help."

  "That's true. My Xiao Tian is the strongest!"

  Lin Yuan ruffled Yang Tian’s hair with a hearty laugh. But deep inside, his heart grew heavier.

  If he couldn't win that prize money, Longxing Martial Hall would be lost. The land had been unpaid for six months, and their deadline was approaching fast.

  And though Yang Tian was a prodigy, three months was simply too short a time...

  "Don’t worry, Godfather. I will make it happen. We won’t let our ancestral land be taken away!"

  Clenching his fists, Yang Tian made a silent vow.

  Creak!

  Yang Tian pushed open his door and sat silently at his desk.

  He reached for a bamboo brush, dipped it in ink, and gazed at the rough parchment before him.

  His once-calm eyes turned sharp, filled with seething hatred. His pupils reddened, bloodshot with rage.

  This was his nightly ritual—a reminder of the hatred burning in his heart. A reminder of what happened eight years ago!

  By the flickering candlelight, a chilling aura spread through the room. His brush moved with fierce strokes, each word imbued with an intense killing intent.

  The first word he wrote:

  "Dragon" (龙)

  As the ink settled, a murderous aura seeped from the page. His breath grew heavy, and cracks formed along the bamboo brush.

  The second word followed:

  "Yang" (阳)

  Dragon Yang!

  As soon as the name was complete, the brush shattered into fragments, scattering across the table. A sudden gust of wind blew the ink-drenched splinters onto his face.

  "BANG!"

  Yang Tian clenched his fist, shattering the table’s corner.

  The faint blood energy within him suddenly surged, resonating with his sorrow and pain. It roared within him, composing a silent battle hymn.

  His hatred intensified. He pounded his chest violently, cursing his own weakness. With each strike, blood trickled from the corners of his lips.

  "Dragon Yang... Who the hell are you? My family had no feud with you—why did you slaughter my kin?"

  His fury erupted like a savage beast. His crimson eyes glowed with an eerie light.

  Eight years ago...

  A group of black-clad assassins surrounded his family. At the brink of annihilation, his parents tore open space itself and cast him into a void passage.

  Their fate remained unknown.

  Through the chaos, he had only heard the name "Dragon Yang Emperor." But he knew nothing about this man.

  "Dragon Yang, you old bastard! One day, I’ll slaughter your entire clan! I’ll make you taste the agony of losing your loved ones!"

  Tears welled in his eyes.

  He took a deep breath and reached for an ancient ring hanging from his neck. A jet-black dragon was etched into its surface, glistening ominously beneath the candlelight.

  His destiny was already set in stone.